Buried
by Sixty-four K
Summary: Lindir is injured in an accident. Worse than his physical injuries are his doubts in his self-worth, as well as uncomfortable memories that he'd thought he'd forgotten. A twelve-chapter story, each chapter less than 500 words each. Part of the Shards of Imladris series. Inspired by NirCele's "When We Remember."
1. Buried

Lindir awoke.

He awoke, if that's what you could call it, clawing his way through unconsciousness, surfacing back into a cold, unforgiving world.

Really, it didn't feel like he was awake at all… he was incredibly hot, yet shivering at the same time… it felt like a fever dream.

Then he realized that he couldn't see at all. But he didn't scream, because he was a quiet person.

Much to Lindir's immense relief, images began to appear before him again, fading gradually back into his eyesight. But then again, he could see two of everything, and it was all so dark, so gritty. Bits of dust flew everywhere, although that might only be his compromised vision. His head hurt so much… and now he could only see fractured light.

Was someone calling his name? His ears kept ringing, and he didn't know what was going on… but, then again, he didn't know anything. He wasn't good for anything—he wasn't useful like Erestor or Glorfindel. He didn't know why anyone would call out for him. All he knew how to do was play music—

And then he started to cry, and he wouldn't have been able to explain why if anyone had asked him.

All he knew was that something inestimably precious had been taken from him.

* * *

_A/N: I don't know if any of my LotR friends are still around, but here I am!_

_This was written way back in 2015, I believe; I was very inspired by NirCele's "When We Remember," and will follow its pattern, having twelve chapters under 500 words. I've been going through some of my old documents and thought that I should fix up some of the rough drafts and publish them. This will be canon with my other serious Rivendell Elf stories. Written because we all need more Lindir angst._

_Thank you for reading! :D_


	2. Somewhere

_Somewhere_

"It's all my fault."

"Erestor, stop it. You didn't make him fall."

"But I'm in charge of making sure that everything is in good repair. And that balcony was due for repairs, obviously… Lindir's so light. How did it break?"

_Why is Erestor upset? He never did anything to me… if that is Erestor. I really can't tell..._

"We can't always know, Erestor. Sometimes, things just happen, and we can't stop them, or do anything about them. You know that I know what I'm talking about."

"I know, Glorfindel… I just… I don't know. Is he quite alright, Elrond?"

"Well, his arm's broken in at least three places—"

_Oh, my..._

"Ada, Ada! Does that mean that Lindir won't be able to play his lyre for me?"

"I'm afraid so, Arwen; you'll probably have to wait for more than a month."

"But… but that's not fair! Why did Lindir go and do that? He knows that I love his music."

_My music, yes..._

"Arwen, he didn't mean to. It was an accident. Returning to what I was saying: I'm more worried about his head. I think that his skull is fractured."

"Oh my…"

"Erestor, you told me that this had happened before. So don't worry so much—he's tougher than he looks."

"That doesn't make me feel any better, Glorfindel. This happening before makes the danger much more high."

"Ada, why isn't he waking up?"

_Yes, why aren't I? This would be such a good moment..._

"Arwen, stop it; Ada's trying to concentrate."

"But I want to know!"

"Would you all be quiet, please? You're going to hurt his head even more with all that racket."

"Please… please everyone, just stop."

_One last effort..._

"Wait… he opened his eyes…"

"Out, all of you, out!"

_But why…? For once, they're all worried..._

"...Lindir? Can you hear me?

_Well… yes, I can, but I don't know who you are. Your voice isn't distinguishable..._

_My Lord Elrond?_

"Squeeze my hand if you can hear me, Lindir."

_Alright…_

"Oh, thank goodness, Lindir. You're going to be alright. Just rest, and we'll have you back to normal soon enough."

_No, you won't._


	3. Inside

Arwen didn't understand why everyone was so quiet lately. Whenever she tried to ask, they would just shush her, tell her that she was making too much noise, and would she please be quiet, like a good girl.

It drove her mad.

She knew it was about Lindir, but that was all.

She hoped so badly that he was alright.

Lindir was a quiet person by nature, and nothing would ever change that, but sometimes he would talk to Arwen about things. Perhaps this was because he was on the younger side of things, just like her, but she was still practically a baby, as everyone always told her. The twins were closer to his age, but, although they got along well enough, Lindir had never had the same sort of rapport with them. Maybe it was because of all the tricks that they had played on him when they were younger. Arwen never played tricks on Lindir. Even the smallest prank had the capacity to harm him.

Lindir would sometimes talk about his music with Arwen. He'd talk about when he first learned to play. Arwen would have thought that he was born with his talent, but no; it was when he was older, surprisingly, after he'd come to Imladris.

The halls were so silent without the sound of his lyre, his harp, his flute…

She had to go see him. Maybe he just needed some reassurance, someone to tell him that his music was missed.

Arwen crept silently into the room. It was dark, but not unpleasantly so, the white curtains drawn across the window. It was quiet and warm in there, and Arwen thought, had she been the patient, she would have been quite comfortable.

Lindir lay silently on the bed, his thin frame covered with a light blanket. Arwen tiptoed over to the bed kneeling down beside him. He was asleep, it seemed, and she didn't want to wake him up before he was ready.

His arm was at her eye level, and she studied it. It looked quite different, tied firmly to a splint with thick bandages. His fingers poked out from the white cloth, and Arwen reached out and brushed them softly with her own fingertips.

Lindir awoke. He tried to move his head, but hesitated. Arwen stood up, leaning over him so he could see her more easily. "Are you feeling better, Lindir?" she whispered.

The minstrel blinked, his eyes focusing in on hers. "Arwen?"

She nodded. "Yes."

Lindir shuddered. "I know it's you, but… your voice. It doesn't sound like your voice."

"It is my voice, Lindir," said Arwen, head swimming in confusion.

"I know, but it doesn't sound like it," said Lindir, voice shaking.

Arwen blinked. "I'm going to tell Ada," she said, backing away. "He'll fix it. He'll fix your head."

"But, Arwen..." Lindir mumbled, but it was too late; Arwen had already left, her shadowy figure disappearing through the door.

* * *

_A/N: If you have time or want to, let me know what you think! I'm trying to get back into Tolkien again, and once I run out of old things like this to edit, I'll have to figure out these characters' voices again, haha. If any of my old friends are around, I'd especially appreciate hearing from you; I miss you all! _


	4. His

"Explain, please, Lindir. Calmly and rationally, if you can."

Lindir took a deep breath, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn't bring himself to look at Lord Elrond. It felt like he was talking to a stranger, hearing that strange, monotone voice.

"I… I can't tell your voices apart. Not… not even mine," said Lindir. He squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't know why; that's just the way it is. They all sound so monotone."

"Is it just voices, or other things?"

Lindir thought hard, though it hurt his head. He hadn't heard many things other than voices since… since…

"How about music?"

_Music…_ Lindir didn't think that he could close his eyes any harder. The thought was more than he could bear. "I-it's alright, Lord Elrond. It isn't important. Please don't—"

"I'm going to call Glorfindel," said Elrond. "You were teaching him the flute, remember? We'll test it out."

Before Lindir could protest further, Glorfindel was in the room, bearing his flute. "Feeling better?" he asked with a smile. "What song do you want me to play?"

Lindir stared. He didn't want any song played. He didn't want—

"Play the little ditty that Lindir came up with a few days ago," said Elrond. "He'll remember that one."

And Glorfindel began to play. It sounded nothing like what Lindir had composed; it was harsh, cacophonous, dark…

"Stop, just stop!"

Glorfindel and Elrond stared. Lindir stared back, frightened to death. "I can't. I can't hear it… I don't know the difference between the notes anymore," he gasped.

Glorfindel tried to smile. "Sure you do. I… I was just doing a bad job. I'm not good at playing. Not as good as you."

But it made no difference to Lindir. He had already fallen into despair, far beyond Glorfindel's modest ability to pull him from.

The idea of tone-deafness, to a musician, is a horror, a curse.

But Lindir was a tone-deaf musician.

Therefore, he was no longer a musician.


	5. Head

_The elfling smiled brightly. "Lindir, do you want to come to my house?"_

_Lindir smiled back, but shyly, quietly. "I'd love to, Cellissel, but I don't think that your brother will be happy."_

_Cellissel laughed. "Oh, never mind him. He worries too much. Besides, I have a new song that I'd like to play for you."_

"_Well, if you say so." The two children walked together down the cobblestone road, one far taller than the other._

"_I don't know why you play your music for me," said Lindir suddenly. "You're wasting your talent on me."_

_The diminutive girl smiled. "Don't be silly. You just haven't listened to enough music. Someday, you're going to be a genius at it, I know it."_

"_But I can't tell the notes apart," muttered Lindir. "It's something wrong with me. You know all the notes_—_you even know their names when they're played apart from each other! They all sound the same to me."_

_Cellissel blinked. "You mean, you don't like it when I play for you?"_

"_No, no!" stuttered Lindir. "I just… I don't know why you play for me when I can't understand it."_

"_Because I know that, one day, you will understand it."_

* * *

"Talking to someone, Lindir?"

Lindir opened his eyes. Erestor had made it easy for him—he didn't have to wonder who was talking to him, because the Chief Counsellor of Imladris was looming down over him.

"Only in my head," he muttered.

"I was talking to Lord Elrond," said Erestor, sitting gingerly down on the edge of the bed. "Not to get your hopes up, but he thinks that this tone-deafness might be temporary. Sometimes things like this mend themselves after a while."

"Mine won't," mumbled Lindir. "You don't understand, Erestor. I had absolute pitch. I knew every note. For a little while. And now, it's gone. It feels like a friend died."

"You're right. I don't understand. I don't think that I ever will."

"You, of all people, should," mumbled Lindir.

They sat in silence.

Erestor rose. Then, he looked down, a strangely plaintive expression on his face. "I do hope you feel better soon." Then, he left.


	6. That

"_Did you like it?"_

_Lindir did like her song; really he did. But the notes all sounded so similar. He couldn't appreciate it in the way that she did, the way anyone _normal _would._

_Cellissel seemed to know what he was thinking. "You're going to be good at music one day; I know it! You just have to keep trying."_

"_I'm glad you think so, but I can't help but think that you're wasting your time."_

* * *

"Are you feeling better, Lindir?"

It was Arwen who had interrupted his reverie, standing shyly beside the bed, holding something behind her back.

"I'm feeling a little better." It was only a half-lie. His head wasn't spinning as furiously as it had been yesterday; he wasn't feeling half so nauseous as before, but the despair remained.

The only thing that he was good for was gone.

"That's good," said Arwen quietly. She pulled an object out from behind her back. "Do you want to play?"

His lyre. How dare she bring that here, now that he couldn't play it? He tried to be angry, but could only choke back a sob. "I… I can't play that, Arwen. I…"

She blinked. "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot about your arm."

Lindir had forgotten too. Somehow, it seemed that she had not been told about his— his difficulty. He wasn't about to tell her. "Yes, well, you're right. Not a good idea to play it with a broken arm."

"It might make you feel better to hold it, though," she said, smiling innocently. "I know how much you like it. "

It wouldn't make him feel better. But he had to take it when she handed it to him. He cradled it in the crook of his arm.

"You can use your left hand to brush the strings, anyway," Arwen said. "It'll make you feel better. I know it will."

Lindir had to obey. With a trembling hand, he brushed the strings.

The cacophony of clanging came as no surprise to him, but it didn't ease the suffering at all.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I think that you need a new minstrel."

* * *

_A/N: Thank you so much to the two guest reviewers! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story :D_


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